


Returning

by JaneRiverRoad



Category: Original Work
Genre: Art, Assassins & Hitmen, Bad English, Biting, Blood, Dubious Consent, Fanart, Light Angst, M/M, Medication, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swearing, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneRiverRoad/pseuds/JaneRiverRoad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In super speed a hand closed around his mouth, preventing him from saying another word.<br/>„Silence.“ , says a deep grumbling voice right beside his left ear.<br/>---------------------------------------------<br/>Rewrote the first chapter...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there!
> 
> English is not my mother tongue and I am really no good at writing stuff, but I wanted to try it.  
> So tell me what you think.
> 
> There should still be mistakes and misspellings, so feel free to correct me.
> 
> Anyway: I hope you have fun reading this!  
> Oh and I got inspired by this song here:  
> Matthew and the Atlas - Out of the darkness

The snow. White and innocent, but cruel in it’s coldness.

 

It’s December and the snow hasn’t died down since yesterday. The ground is covered knee high in untouched whiteness. It’s in the middle of the night and under this cold weather and circumstances not many dare to leave their homes.  
„...“

There in a lonely road walks a scrawny figure through the snow. No one else in sight.  
Fingerless gloves find their way to Caccias mouth. Breathing steady, he tries to warm them up a bit. He usually doesn’t mind the cold, but something‘s different today. As the fume drifts away, Caccia remembers the events of the week.

First was the undeniable feeling to be watched. While going shopping or running errands. Was he being followed? Maybe it was just his imagination. But yesterday after work at the bar, he could’ve sworn there were sounds of someone walking behind him, but there was no one but him on the street.  
Second was the amount of headaches. The doctors told him it’s possible to have multiple headaches and migranes before someone regains his memories, but Caccia refuses to believe that.  
His first memory was of the white hospital ceiling and smooth voices of nurses telling him to calm down. That he was alright now and safe. He didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. After some tests his diognose was memory loss.  
The reasen he refuses to believe that they may come back was because he thought it was better that way. The doctors told him of the condition he was in when they found him. Muliple broken bones, bruses and scars all over his body. The nurses whispered „abduction“ and „slave“, but no one knows. Caccia doesn’t remember. It‘s better this way, if what they thought was true-

Lost in thoughts, he didn’t notice he was already at the bridge which leads to the inner city. Taking evening strolls calms his headaches and mind. Lifting his head Caccia watched the play of street and moonlight on the white snow. When dark blue fades from white to orange to violett and somehow display all kind of colours. Only at night.  
From this small bridge, you can overlook the entrance to the city. The rest of the still standing townwall. The illuminated church right behind a playground and a basketballfield. A whole lot of other things, which are uninsteresting for Caccia.  
Intenionally his goal was to roam the city, maybe drink a few beers. Or something stronger.

Since his stay in the hospital it’s been 3 whole years, but he still can’t shake off this feeling. These gut wrenching discomfort from time to time.  
As if you would wake up in somebody else’s bed. Not knowing where you are or what you are doing here. And this feeling of strangeness follows you around whereever you go. Despite knowing where you are and what you do. And it really pisses him off.  
That reminds him of the third bad thing that happened during this week: he was almost out of pills again.  
As Caccia leans with his back on the railing and lifts his head up to the sky, he watches as each snowflake slowly descends unto earth.

Time seems to slow down.

With no wind whatsoever, the snowflakes float in the air.  
Up, from the dark sky they fall in slow motion. Only silence and the snow.  
Not even a car crosses the bridge.  
Just a scrawny figure in a black coat and disheveled dark brown hair.

  
Times seems to fly by, because the snow was already building small mountains on the shoulders.  
Huffing and freeing the coat of the fallen snow, Caccia thinks he might as well return home. Despite the freezing temperatues and the fact that his fingers are icy, he doesn’t really feel the cold.  
But that doesn’t mean he can’t get sick.

As he was getting ready to get back again, he took one last look over the bridge. The city lights in the distance shine bright and illuminates the snow around it.  
Slipping his fingers into his pockets, Caccia turns around and starts walking back to where he came from.  
After this little night stroll, maybe his mind will let him sleep for a few hours. Because headaches are not his only problem.  
He keeps his sight on the ground as he trudges his way through the untouched snow. The only sound coming from his boots crushing the whiteness and leaving fresh prints.  
Deciding to go back to his apartement another way than before, he focuses on the glistering snow on the ground. While walking down the ill-lit street he notices another footsprints in the snow. And something else. Dark deep red spots which disturbes the whiteness around it.

_Blood?_  
No. His mind must be playing him tricks again...

As he walks further there are no more dark spots in the snow. Caccia wills himself to ignore his earlier discovery.  
„...“  
At that moment, Caccia notices that he stopped again at the entrance of an ally.

_Why did I stop walking? ..._ , he thought to himself, but as he was about to keep going, he looks up and freezes.  
There, in the dark ally, stood someone. Not able to see clearly, because of the little light that got through from the street let him see a rather big, sturdy back of a person.

_Did he notice me?_

And as he was asking himself that question, the head of this dark figure turns around and faces towards Caccia. Still to dark to make out any details.  
But what he could make out was the blazing eyes. Bright like the snow and with the most intense stare he has ever seen. A stare you did not dare to break, because any second now he would strike you, if you as much waver. Like a wild animal.  
Which felt like minutes, but must have been a few seconds, they stared at each other.  
Caccia held his breath as he stood as still as he can. Caught like a deer in the headlights.  
He should mind his own business and just keep going-  
At that thought, the unknown man sprinted fruther into the dark alley.  
„Ah! Hey- ...?“ Caccia stumbled a few steps into the alley, but could not make out anything anymore in the darkness.  
_What did I even wanted to say?_  
_..._  
_These eyes... seemed familiar?_  
Shaking my head and trying to forget this strange meeting, Caccia resumed his walk home and found that his luck betrait him once again, because the headache came back.

\---------------

The next few days were fortunately eventless as everyday.  
Waking up or being already awake thanks to bad dreams, he takes meds and then goes to work around noon. Usually Caccia doesn’t need to go to the bar that early, but he doesn’t have anything else to do and doesn’t know anyone else. Then he returns home late. And that almost everyday hopefully without slipping.

Which refers to his blackouts, his collegue Marco has witnesses once to many times. Also a thing the doctors mentioned. Blackouts or strange behaviour due to his mind „trying to gain access to his lost memory“ or something like that.  
As Marco stated, no one wanted to be around Caccia when he slips, apparently because he once was rather violently and nearly broke two chairs and a customers arm. And of course Caccia himself can’t remember a single thing afterwards.  
So far everything was okay, except for that strange evening last week. Maybe it was a slip of him and he remembers them now? Stranger things happened.  
But since he takes these shit ton of pills from his doc, he has everything under control.

Standing behind the bar wiping glasses clean Caccia failed to notice somebody calling him.  
„-ey Caccia!“  
Suddenly looking up and being face to face with his so far only friend Marco, Caccia gives him a wry smile.  
„What is it?“  
„Didn’t you hear me? I was calling you at least four times. I said: Have you thought about it?“  
„...about what?“  
Marco‘s sour face stares back at him for a long time. „Caccia, I told you before to come to me when you can’t sleep, so-„  
„Wait. No, I slept. Alright? I slept enough. Stop bothering. And what was it you meant?“  
Taking a step towards Caccia, Marco continues: „I can see when you don’t sleep. You daydream around the whole day then.“, he says very low.  
At that Caccia looks up again into his eyes. Eyes that are angry but worried at the same time.„I-“  
„No, listen: I asked you last week if you wanted to live with me, in my house. You still hasn’t given me an answer. If this is to much for you? Ok then don’t. But please consider it at least. When you are with me I can watch over you and you don’t have to stay up at night.“  
Caccia sighs.  
„Marco. I know that you are concerned about my health, but believe me: I am alright. I can handle a few sleepless nights.“  
„A few?...you-!“ Marco back off and leans agains the bar table, defeated. „...Ok. But you know where to find me. Just don’t colapse again, okay?“, he finishes their conversation. Caccia puts the now clean glass away and faces him again. „Yeah I know...“, he says while giving Marco a wry grin again. His colleague just anwsers his with his own crooked one.

\----------

Sleeples nights are normality for Caccia. Horribe dreams of dying faceless people or dead bodies on the floor and around him keep him up at night. Vivid brutalities, blood and actions. But the worst part is that he himself is the one holding the knife. Does is have anything to do with his earlier life? Caccia tries not to think about it, especially if the headaches come back much faster.  
_Thank gods for medication._

Without those Caccia would’ve probably ended in a mental hospital. Waking up, drenched in sweat almost everynight just wasn’t an option.  
Marco helped him to begin. He met him half a year after the accident at a psychologist. They have the same doctor and were waiting in the same room. So they began to talk. Marco gave him a job as a bartender in his bar. And helped him sleep though a whole night without using sleeping pills. Falling asleep due to exhaustion is really peaceful. They are not in a relationship but that doesn’t mean they can’t meet up and relief some stress, right?  
The proposal from Marco didn’t surprise Caccia much. It may be a good idea. Sharing the rent, saving money and buying less pills and finally sleeping like a baby. But he doesn’t like the pitying feeling he gets eveytime he is with Marco...

„I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye!“  
„Take care. “  
Caccia leaves the bar first and heads home.  
Unaware of a stranger following him.

\--------

At the apartment, putting away the dishes after his meal, he stops in his tracks and leans again the sink. Remembering the unusual eyes during that strange evening a few nights ago, Caccia closes his own.  
_Have I seen them before?...but that could not be. I would have remembered those eyes._  
He sighs and stands up straight again.

_I should just forget about this. It was nothing. Nobody._

And with that he lets myself fall onto his old worn out couch and turns on the TV.  
Zapping through the channels, nothing really catches his attention.  
„-a body was found Downtown. After first inspections, the police is sure it was a murder.“  
My finger stops there.  
„The Weapon is still unclear, but it appears to have been something long, small and sharp. May have been a kitchen knife or something.“, says the police officer into the camera.  
As they keep talking about the possible when and wheres, Caccia just stares ahead.  
Again.  
Again did he stop.  
_Why did I stop at the news?_  
It’s like that one time at the ally.  
He just stopped. _Intuition?  
__But for what? ..why?_

_Those eyes..._

At that a strong wave of pain hit out of nowhere.  
„Argh!“  
Caccia grabs his head with both hands and clenches my teeth. Shutting his eyes, he tries to endure the pain until he gets used to it. After a few moments he opens them again and stands up. Stumbling over to the kitchen and frantically searching in one of the drawers for aspirin, he pops in two or three. Caccia then leans over the sink again and tries to adjust his breathing.  
After a minute the brunette opens the tap and drinks right from it.  
_That was unexpected._

The strange feeling comes over him again and he closes his eyes trying to think of nothing.  
Leaning down and splashing water into his weary face did not help either.  
Still leaning over the sink, Caccia feels the effects of the pills setting in.  
_Ahh. Sweet, sweet medicals._

The migrane now just a dull throbbing in the background, he straightens and watches his reflection in the kitchen shelf.  
_Miserable as ever._  
Caccia‘s eyes flicker just beside his reflection and he makes out a shadow standing in the door.  
Abrupt he whirs around, eyes wide and unbelieving.  
For one moment he thought that his eyes were playing him tricks again, for there was nothing.  
Not bothering to turn on the lights, Caccia blaims it on his sleepiness.  
Unclenching his fingers from the sink, he runs his hands through his hair.  
_Get yourself together. You are at home. Everything is alright._

„...“ Shaking his head, Caccia tries to relax again.  
He walks back into the living room, still to dazed to notice that he is not alone anymore.  
When suddenly, his body was hauled of the ground and thrown onto the couch with a yelp.  
„What-?!“  
In super speed a hand closed around his mouth, preventing him from saying another word.  
„Silence.“ , says a deep grumbling voice right beside his left ear.  
Caccia freezes momentarily.

The stranger was pressed against him, laying on top of him and therefor squishing him to the couch.  
He could feel a strong chest on his back, pressing him futher into the cushions.  
One hand trapped under him and the other held above his head.  
As the captive started to struggle and buck under him, the burglar tsked and let his hand go.  
Just to press, in the next moment, a small dagger on his neck.  
Caccia stops and lays still again.  
„Good. Stop struggling or I will have to hurt you.“  
_Damn him! A fucking burglar? Really?!_  
But he didn’t try to do anything else. With a knife at his neck,the message is pretty clear.  
„Now. When I take my hand from your mouth, you will neither scream nor say anything. Is that clear?“  
Comes the deep rumbling from behind. Caccia thinks through his possibilities here, but decides to play along for a while. Maybe the right opportunity will come.

He nods his head and gives his okay in form of a grunt.  
Slowly the guy takes his hand from his mouth but presses the dagger slightly more into his neck.  
After a moment of not uttering a single sound, he begins to move again and leans further onto Caccia‘s back.  
It seems the burglar was trying to get something over his head.  
As he leans forward and over him, Caccia tries to tilt his head a bit more so he could make out his face better.  
But a mix of too long deshevelled hair and no light source didn’d help. The only thing that emanates light is coming from the television.  
Unfortunately he could only make out a strong chin and straight nose. Short light coloured hair maybe. Trying to concentrate on something else, to identify the intruder, Caccia notices their position.  
As the guy leans forward with all his body, he still lays on top of him and right now his crotch is connecting with his rear.  
Trying not to flinch by this late realization, he hopes the other didn’t notice.  
He must be an incredible robust man, due to the fact that he could throw me, an 1,80 meter tall guy, around light a pillow and...well the fact that he is definitely well hung.  
Caccia blaims it on his scrawny and light body.  
The intruder finally stops rummaging around and therefor also stops rubbing himself all over Caccia.  
He tries to lift his head, to see what that guy is doing, but the knife at his neck restrains him.  
His right hand is taken from under him and put together with his other hand above his head.  
Too late, Caccia realizes that he is binding them togher with his jacket, which he has thrown on the couch when he got home.

_Oh no._  
_What can I do? I have a knife at my thoat and even if I fight him, he could easily put my lights out!_

Not knowing what to do, Caccia does nothing.  
_At least my migrane is low right now._  
Hands restrained, the burglar resumes his previous position.  
Not able to see what he is doing now, Caccia hopes that his plans for the evening doesn’t contain him being dead. Or raped. Or kidnapped. Or everything in a different order.

„Ah-Mhhf!“  
Taken by surprise, he stuffs Caccia‘s mouth with a piece of clothing, then takes away his dagger, just to secure the cloth with another bound around his head.  
„MMhhm!!“  
„Didn’t I tell you to be silent?“ , he says, not sounding agitated at all, more irritated.  
„Anyway, even if you do make a sound, it’s useless.“  
„Mhff?“ Not good.  
Then he lifts himself off his captive and sits on his knees on either side of Caccia’s hips.  
Sensing his opening, he was about to crawl forward, when hands land on said hips.  
He flinches and tries to look behind him, a spark of anger forming.  
At that he freezes again and looks his captor straight in the eyes.  
Silver eyes that seem to glow despite the darkness.  
Those eyes. , was his thougth right befor the guy grips his neck and turns his head back around.  
He leaves his hand there and with that, secures Caccia to the couch again.  
With his other hand he lifts up his shirt and hooks his fingers into the waistband of his jogging.  
„MMMHH!!“  
Caccia then bucks under him, but with no effect. The guy was sitting on his legs and presses onto the brunette‘s neck more firmly until it started to hurt.  
With his hands restrained and his body on his belly, he was unable to free himself now.  
„...“, breathing heavy, Caccia’s mind tries to come up with an idea.

He doesn’t command anything anymore, which just makes him panic even more.  
Pulling down Caccia‘s pants to his thighs, his grip on his neck loosens a bit.  
His free hand then strokes him just below his right butt, and he tries not to freak out.  
Lying as still as he possibly could, he brings his breathing under control again.  
After he touches and strokes there a few times, he stops and retreats his hand.  
Pulling my collar to the side until my right shoulder is exposed,the silver eyed pervert then touches it.  
It feels as if he was inspecting Caccia. Maybe some kind of kinky foreplay.  
_Fucking pervert.I need to get out of this situation fast or else-_

Then he remember having this really weird-looking scar on his shoulder.  
Apart from his entire body being littered with scars, this one is different.  
It kinda looks like dagger, but why is he checking him for scars?  
Then the guy stops his ministrations and does nothing.

Nothing for a few moment. Just silence.

Then he puts his hand on Caccia‘s hip again and his other hand, which held his neck, strokes upwards to the back of his head. Threading through the dark brown hair with his fingers. Intimate.  
Not knowing what he is going to do next, Caccia tries not to resist, for he could suffocate him right now.  
Feeling him leaning forward on top of him again, he shudders when a warm chest connects with his back. The fit body of the intruder lines up once again with Caccia’s.  
Breathing touches his neck. Warm and wet.  
Mere centimeters from his ear, he whispers:

**„Cacciatore...“**

Flinching, he tries to turn his head the other way.  
_What..? How? That’s not possible!_

When Caccia was found the only thing he had on him was a card in his pocket with only one word on it.  
„...Cacciatore...“, the mysterious man says once again. Muffling the only clue to his identity into his jaw this time.

_Who are you-?_

The hand on his head ruffles his hair for a moment, while the mouth descents down his neck once again, not quite touching skin. His hot breathing tickling and the gentleness far to intimate.  
His scent irritates Caccia the most because he feels relaxed despite the fact that he shouldn’t.  
As the strangers mouth finds the place between his shoulder and his neck, he suddenly grips the long strands of hair, holding Caccia‘s head in place and bites into the juncture.  
„HANGHF!“, he squeeks and his whole body goes rigid.  
He bites down harder and draws blood.  
A whimper leaves Caccia’s mouth and then his whole body relaxes under the assaulter.  
All his muscles just slacked off all at once. As if he was given sedatives.  
After the guy sucks a bit at the bite mark, drawing blood again, he withdraws a bit, just to lick at the wound again and again. Until it stops bleeding.  
There will be a very definite bitemark by tomorrow.  
Caccia’s body just lies there, doing nothing. Total relaxation.  
Surprisingly, his mind is in the same state. Quiet and empty. He doesn’t even care anymore.  
As if nothing could disturb him right now.

When the stranger finished, he withdraws and leans back again.  
After unbinding the hands and pulling the cloth out of his mouth, he pulls his pants back up.  
Caccia tries to follow him with his eyes, but is to tired at the moment. Getting sleepy, the last thing he sees are silver eyes staring back at him, right befor he closes his eyes and lets peaceful sleep engulf him.

**Author's Note:**

> And?


End file.
